Fee Fi Fo Fum
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: M&MWP, oneshot. Romilda Vane takes a few tries before she falls in love correctly, and even that's a bit of a stretch. Mention if used, thx. *Romilda-centric*


**Fee Fi Fo Fum**

A HariPo oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Harry Potter_ characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. Thepairing** Romilda/Hagrid **is a **Mew and Mor's Weird Pairing**, which you may find in the **M&amp;MWP forum** (see my profile for details).Check out and join the forum FUN! Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

Romilda Vane is eleven when she sees the white-haired boy, and she thinks she knows what love is.

Her mother never told her what it was. Then again, Ms. Vane is not one to talk, going through husband after husband. At least every time she has the dignity never to take his name and so Romilda never has to reinvent her identity.

But at eleven, Romilda Vane is at her most vain. She is a half-blood witch who has just arrived at Hogwarts, and looks are everything to her. It makes sense. She looks into the mirror every morning (like her mother taught her to at home) and decides she likes some things and dislikes others. Her freckles, for instance, are always on the "Dislike" list. But her pretty eyes? Always on "Like."

It takes a while for Romilda to learn the boy's name—Draco Malfoy—and then she starts to hear about Draco's reputation. His family is wealthy and one of the oldest pureblood lines still in existence. Even as the months become a year and each year passes, Romilda nurses a flame for the slippery snake even before the other girls in her year or even the year above her begin to take notice of the other sex.

Still, the years go by, and unsavory things about Draco reach Romilda's ears. "Called Hermione a 'Mudblood." "Wanted Potter dead in that ordeal over the Chamber of Secrets." "Heard his father was there when You-Know-Who supposedly came back." "His father was just arrested at the Ministry!"

If there's one thing Romilda learned from her mother, it's that money will take a woman far. But Romilda's mother also knows a thing or two about reputation, and so Romilda crosses Draco off her "Loves for life" list.

The money she could handle. The public humility? Not so much.

\- ^-^3

By her fourth year, Romilda is fourteen and sets her sights on the [in]famous Harry Potter.

She's ambitious, yes, and a little foolhardy, but what Gryffindor isn't? Besides, nearly every girl in school (and probably a few boys, too) have taken notice of the "Chosen One."

Wouldn't that be great? Most Gryffindors imagine being the hero at some point. But marrying one? Romilda thinks that's a much better and safer bet.

Harry's got a lot going for him, too. He's probably wealthy enough—he never seems to want for much of anything—and he's got a nice circle of friends (even if they are a little strange). He's even been known to crack a smile and laugh in public, unlike other formerly-handsome-to-Romilda boys (Draco's not even a thought in her mind anymore).

But with everyone's eyes on Harry, Romilda begins to fret that she doesn't stand a chance. She barely has the opportunity to speak to the boy, so she resorts to her schooling and brews a batch of love potion.

(It's not as hard as some girls say, and she quite resents the fact that her roommates think she had to order it because she could never make it on her own.)

So one batch of love potion plus a box of chocolates should equal one Romilda-crazy Harry Potter, correct?

Wrong.

Word travels through the grapevine about Ron Weasley ingesting the chocolates, and Romilda internally screams. Even though she gave it a shot this time and made a move, her love wasn't going to happen!

But maybe that's all right, she muses as the year ends, and Death Eaters break into the castle and Dumbledore dies… Romilda crosses Harry off her "Loves for life" list, too.

The celebrity she could handle. The target on her back? Not so much.

\- ^-^3

For a brief moment, Romilda Vane fancies herself actually attracted to Ron Weasley.

It's just a small moment, at King's Cross, before everyone heads his or her own way after the ride back after Dumbledore's funeral. But it's a moment nevertheless.

She spies Ron with Harry and Hermione. A look of understanding passes between the three. Harry looks resolute. Hermione, as per usual, looks wary.

But there's a wealth of kindness and caring in Ron's eyes as he looks at his two best friends. And it's a moment that makes Romilda's toes curl and her stomach flutter. She wonders, just for a second, what it would've been like if her chocolates had been intended for him, seeing as how she'd succeeded.

Then his family arrives, and the moment's gone, because the last thing Romilda sees as his family swallows the trio up is his look of longing for Hermione (even though he'd been with Lavender Brown for much of the year). And Romilda finally begins to understand love, just a little. But Romilda crosses Ron off her "Loves for life" list in the end, and she meets her mother and they go home.

The poverty of his family she could handle. But knowing he'd never love her like he loves Hermione Granger? Not so much.

\- ^-^3

With each love, Romilda feels the emotion for a shorter interval, but each time the feeling's that much more intense. She'd admired Draco's looks, she'd crushed on Harry, and she'd really entertained what it would have been like to have Ron's affection.

That's the story of her life as she carries on. She finishes school, and she tries a million and one jobs, and she fails to make anything of herself. Her mother can't support her forever, but at least Romilda isn't forced to leave home. No, her mother's on her sixth divorce, and she does at least enjoy her daughter's company.

Romilda works her pretty eyes on the new owner of the Leaky Cauldron, fellow Hogwartian Hannah Abbott, and lands herself a passable wage working as Hannah's everything girl—a little bit of this, a little bit of that, working as the inn's maid, working as a barmaid. And her pretty eyes work on the customers, too, so Hannah supposes that it's all right to keep Romilda on.

Unfortunately for Romilda, her eyes land on a lot of customers, and each flare up of love lasts shorter than the previous, but her feelings grow in intensity. It's not until her mother marries for a seventh time that Romilda calls it quits on love, because why bother with such passions if they never last? After all, no sooner than her mother's married than Ms. Vane is already planning her seventh separation.

\- ^-^3

Five years go by, aging Romilda to twenty-five. And she's learned several things.

First, love does not last. Her mother's seventh divorce is settling, and it looks as though she might not give it another shot (at least for now).

Second, love comes in disguise. At least that's Romilda's opinion, because it never has made sense to her why Hannah married Neville Longbottom.

Third…love is cruel.

This latest lesson Romilda has learned vicariously, by listening to the sad tales of the bar's regulars as well as the sob stories of the bar's rare visitors. One woman once tells her about how the woman's husband chose to encounter a manticore rather than stay married to her. Another man, the hapless Mr. Scott, comes in every Sunday to tell her and Hannah about his latest failure with yet another lady in his Crup-breeding circle.

Another familiar face appears every few months or so, always alone. It was startling the first time Romilda saw him, because he looked so aged compared to what she remembered of the groundskeeper. But Rubeus Hagrid nevertheless comes to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and a meal whenever he has business in Diagon Alley.

Romilda asks Hannah why they see him even during the school year. Hannah tells her that Hagrid stopped being a professor and the groundskeeper ages ago. That makes some sense. Hagrid took good care of the school, but he wasn't much of a professor.

Romilda's curious about the half-giant. Hannah tells her to leave him alone and not to be rude and poke into his business. Only to bring him his food and drink as ordered.

But by the fourth time he comes around, halfway through November, Romilda brings out the forthrightness she hasn't used in a decade and plops a flagon of butterbeer on his table with a "So what's got you, Hagrid?"

He looks up at her, eyes round as the plate she sets down. "Sorry?" he asks.

Maybe he doesn't remember her. That's fine. He used to see hundreds of students—he can't be expected to remember every face and name. "Romilda Vane," she says by way of clarification.

His eyes brighten a little. Oh. So maybe he does have a long memory. "I know. Yer workin' fer Hannah. Have bin for a while."

She's just a bit taken aback that he's been aware of his surroundings. "Yeah. Former Gryffindor, terminal busybody." She smiles slightly. It's not a smile she would've used on Harry or a plead she _did_ use on Hannah, but it's a smile, and it's somewhat genuine. "So what's got you?"

He smiles, too, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and her own smile lessens. "Don't worry 'bout me, Miss Vane. I'm all right wit' just some food an' a nice atmosphere." And he sips from his mug and picks up his fork and that's the end of the conversation.

A bit miffed, Romilda returns to her post. Hannah tries to tell her that she tried, but when Romilda doesn't respond, Hannah rolls her eyes and reminds her that she'd told Romilda not to get involved.

"The service industry isn't about us," Hannah says. "It's about them, the customers."

But for Romilda Vane, who's never stopped looking in the mirror and choosing what she likes and dislikes about herself, has to wonder: Why can't it be about both them _and_ the customers?

\- ^-^3

She recognizes a pattern in his arrivals and asks him about it. At first he's reluctant to reply, but eventually he gives in, because Romilda is nothing if not persistent.

"I try to go wit' th' migratin' patterns, you see, of various creatures."

Ah, so his passion is alive and well. "And what creatures are you keeping tabs on at the moment?" she queries, cleaning up the surrounding tables so that she has a reason for chatting.

"Well, it's near th' full moon, so it'll be th' mooncalves right now." He pauses, and then delight overtakes him. "Have you ever seen such a sight? They dance when they go courtin' each other."

Romilda furrows her brow. It doesn't sound like her idea of a good time, and she tries not to show that in her expression. "Erm, no, I…I haven't."

Hagrid is for once the old lively bloke the students knew him to be in that moment. "Oh, it's beautiful, it is. Th' creatures are wonderful themselves, but th' dance…" He takes a worn hankie from one of his many pockets on his cloak and uses it to blow his nose. By Merlin. He's still driven to emotion by creatures! "Sorry. Summat in my eye."

"Right…" Romilda takes in his figure. His cloak is the same as ever, but she notices he never has much of anything with him, except for a little sack with a knot at the opening. It gives him a transient air. Suddenly it strikes her that, with him no longer employed at Hogwarts, he likely doesn't even have a home. Where does he stay? He's never with anyone at the pub. Does he rely on the kindness of strangers who share his love of the dangerous yet cuddly? It makes her frown.

Hagrid blathers on a little more about mooncalves, and Romilda listens distractedly. Before the evening's over, she glances over at the bar and the door to the kitchen. "Um, Hagrid, give me a mo?"

He blushes, having realized he's been prattling on, and he ducks his head, beginning to count out his tab.

Romilda ducks in the back. She's relieved to find Hannah went home early. Nice that she trusts Romilda. Then again, Romilda thinks, Hannah might have to reconsider that trust if she realizes what Romilda begins to do that night, as the dark-haired witch hunts for some spare bread and jam. She packages it up and takes it out to Hagrid. "Here you are."

"I dinnit ask for—"

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house." And she gives him a winning smile, and not even the half-giant is immune.

"Bless your heart, Miss Vane," he says cheerily.

His cheerfulness makes her want to laugh good-naturedly. "I'll see you next time, Hagrid."

She locks up after he's gone, and she's so content that she even comes up with an excuse to give Hannah, should her boss notice anything. "I'll just say it was old," she decides, and it's a win-win in her mind.

\- ^-^3

Little by little, Hagrid's vivacity for life bubbles up to the surface, and Romilda finds herself smiling more. Occasionally, when business is slow, Hannah lets her sit a spell with their old acquaintance. Romilda gets more stories that way.

"An' then, two years ago, I was in Japan, tryin' ter find one of their famous blue demons—they carry clubs wit' them, d'you know?—and…"

Frankly, her younger self would've been bored to death by all this. But the adult Romilda is gaining an appreciation for such stories. They give her the excitement that she couldn't have imagined for herself, because she stopped dreaming a long time ago that she'd ever go anywhere outside of the Leaky Cauldron or her mother's home.

He pauses when he sees her stifling a laugh. "Wot? Was it summat I said? I swear, I've got no blood or gore in my stories, Miss Vane. I was just surprised th' locals mistook me fer a demon instead."

"No, no, it's fine. I just—I think I would've liked to see you squirm your way out of that one, Hagrid."

Hagrid makes a face, but he's just a bit embarrassed, not upset with her. He rolls his eyes, which makes her laugh, and he continues on with his story.

\- ^-^3

All the storytelling makes Romilda curious, and she goes somewhere she hasn't been in a long time: a place that's not the pub or home.

She ventures into Diagon Alley on her day off and goes into Flourish and Blotts. Romilda peruses the shelves, and that nostalgic feeling, the one that any student gets before the start of term each year, floats to the surface, and she rather wishes she'd been more serious at school, had found some calling instead of trying to pick a boy to make her own. Maybe she could've been an Auror—she's daring and bold.

Maybe she could've been an adventurer like Hagrid.

Maybe not, she thinks, picking up some books that were published within her lifetime. She knows she's not one to rough it; she likes modern conveniences. Then again…she could always try it…

She buys two books: one on the recent changes in rights for werewolves and one on aquatic beings in Eastern Europe. And she reads them.

The next time she sees Hagrid, she asks him about some of the creatures. "Have you ever seen a vodnik?"

He's stunned. "I… Uh, no, no. Never bin ter th' Czech Republic. Not yet, at least."

"Oh. I just wondered if it was true, about them collecting porcelain cups."

"From wot I've heard, they do, but th' cups don't actually collect souls." He sits back, appraising her. "Say, where did you learn that? I don't remember teachin' that."

Romilda grins impishly. "Guilty as charged. Your stories made me curious."

And it's the right thing to say.

Hagrid is full of stories and a half, and he's the friendliest that not only Romilda's ever seen but that anyone's ever _been_ to her, now that he's found a kindred spirit. Sure, sometimes it takes her some effort to keep up with some of the things he says (and who thought there was such a thing as studying just to carry on a conversation?). But it's worth the effort.

Sometimes, though, Hagrid gets so caught up in his tales that he stumbles, and his cast of characters edges towards revealing people he no longer wants to discuss.

But with kindness in her pretty eyes and genuine care in her voice when she tells him it's all right not to share what he doesn't want to with her, Romilda becomes someone's confidant.

"It's…it's tough, sometimes," he mumbles on a September night after everyone else has left and Hannah has left the pub in Romilda's hands yet again. "Journeyin' alone kin be a bit problematic, you see, 'specially when yours truly gets himself in trouble." His eyes darken, impossibly. "But it kin be worse, goin' wit' someone, an' they don't have their heart in it."

A vague memory seizes her, and she recalls the half-giantess who runs (ran?) Beauxbatons…and her heart sinks alongside Hagrid's. No doubt something happened there. It had been plain to the entire school during the Triwizard Tournament (the same time when things about Hagrid's own family history had come to light at the sharp quill of Rita Skeeter).

Romilda stands and reaches across the table and pats his hair, because, big though he might be, Hagrid's just another man, another person who's subject to the kindness and cruelty of the world and its other inhabitants.

She strokes his hair, and her heart despairs, because she realizes that maybe it's not just Hagrid who's in need of solace and reassurance that this world is awful and beautiful all at once.

\- ^-^3

Romilda Vane is almost thirty, and she's filled with anxiety.

That thing in her chest (her heart) started beating again five years ago, and her emotions are attempting to get the best of her these days. The intensity is growing exponentially and for the worse, and she can sense that she wants to believe in lies again, to believe that it's okay to care so deeply for someone else again.

But how is it possible? How can she convince herself that she's learned her lesson and is at last ready to do something her mother never managed and _actually_ fall in love?

And why does it have to be with a man who's far too different from her, who will outlive her because he's not even fully a man?

(Though she knows those aren't really the things that count, not when she can carry on a conversation with him and laugh with him and finish his sentences as he anticipates her questions.)

She considers asking Hannah for advice. Then she rethinks that. Hannah's not a reliable source. The poor woman is still fooling herself that Neville's the man who was meant to be her husband, even though her best friend, Zacharias Smith, is back in London and "helping" around the pub more than just a friend visiting should.

Romilda closes her eyes upstairs, putting the mop away before she goes downstairs to start her bar shift. She knows he'll be down there—of course he will, because he said he'd be after he returned from Spain—but she has to compose herself.

Breathing in, breathing out, Romilda makes her way to the pub and takes the apron Hannah hands her. Hannah is smiling more these days, and Romilda thinks it's partly because Zacharias is taking her all the places and shops Neville never would. That trio makes Romilda think about those lessons again, and she decides they still hold true. Love is cruel, ensnaring those three in a disastrous triangle, and love doesn't always last, because no doubt Hannah and Neville are kaput.

(But something has to be said of Zacharias' love lasting all this time…)

And the other lesson?

Romilda gets it now.

She grabs Hagrid's usual and brings two mugs of butterbeer and sits with him because the night is late, so her shift will be short and light tonight. She sits down across from him and he digs in, pausing at intervals to tell her how beautiful Spain was and how things went, and Romilda sits there, soaking it all in while despairing once again.

He pauses, rummages in his coat, and tells her to close her eyes. Then she feels something cold and soft in her hands. "All right," he says, and she can hear the giddiness in his voice. "Open yer eyes."

Romilda does and she discovers a beautiful gold bracelet in her palm. She holds it up, admiring it. "Oh, my… Hagrid… It's beautiful."

He beams at her. "I found them, xanas. Beautiful nymphs, just like you read in yer books. Hard ter stop listenin' ter their singin'. But I held out longer than my Spanish fellows, an' one xana was so appreciative that she cut off a lock of her golden hair fer me." He's so proud of himself. "So I fashioned it into a bracelet fer you. Hope you like it."

She doesn't respond, just slips it onto her left wrist. She stares at him, her smile true and painful all at once.

"Romilda… You should go ter Spain, y'know. You'd love it," he insists. "You'd fit right in. An' you'd love th' bein's there." His eyes shine, and she can see the invitation in them.

So Romilda digs her grave: "Take me next time, then."

His face flushes, and the atmosphere between them shifts. Romilda knows she's done it. She knows he's fine with that, that he believes she'd make a great travelling companion.

But maybe…just maybe… Maybe things will be different this time. Maybe this is the adventure Romilda's meant to have. So she doesn't cross him off her list.

The trekking and outdoor living—roughing it she could handle. But knowing that things might not work out, for all the obvious reasons and not so obvious ones?

Well, she wants to have a go of it anyway.

\- ^-^3

**:] One of the more unconventional M&amp;MWPs, it's still one that's close to my heart, and I'm not even sure why! There's just something about them…or maybe Hagrid… It's a different kind of love, a comforting, cuddly sort of love that's true as other kinds of love, but… ARGH, I don't even know. I just like them. And writing Romilda here was a bit different for me, too, so I enjoyed that…**

**Well, thanks for reading, and check out my other fics or the M&amp;MWP forum if you were intrigued by this!**

**-mew-tsubaki :3**


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